Chapter 6 - The Box
We barely spoke that evening. The next morning, Diane set a cardboard box on our kitchen table. Inside were photographs — dozens of them, hidden years earlier at the back of her childhood closet before Sandra could destroy them. Diane at four. At seven. At nine. Black curls. Dark eyes. That same unmistakable little nose. Kathleen beside her in most of them.
Then she showed me one more — taken months after Kathleen died. Diane's hair had just been lightened for the first time. She looked miserable in it.
"I hated that dress," she said.
"Why?"
"It was Kathleen's."
That afternoon, she took her contacts out in front of me. I'd technically seen her natural eyes before, but without knowing she wore colored contacts, I'd never really registered the difference.
She stood there looking terrified. "They're beautiful," I told her.
She started crying. A week later, she canceled her hair appointment.
May you like
Months passed before I knew whether our marriage would survive it. We went to counseling. I had to learn that understanding why someone lied doesn't erase the damage the lie actually did. Diane had to learn that finally telling the truth doesn't guarantee instant forgiveness.
Sandra eventually apologized too. Diane didn't accept it right away. She asked her mother never to comment on Willow's appearance again — not positively, not negatively. "Her face isn't a family project," Diane told her. Sandra just nodded.
